


Orcs' Brew

by eldvarpa



Series: Fëanorians beyond the First Age (AUs) [20]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daughters of Fëanor FTW, Drinking, Female Maedhros, Female Maglor, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, Past Mutilation, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22200976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldvarpa/pseuds/eldvarpa
Summary: At the start of the Second Age, Maedhros and Maglor finally meet their second nephew. Centuries later, their first nephew joins them again.
Relationships: Celebrimbor & Gil-galad, Celebrimbor & Maedhros
Series: Fëanorians beyond the First Age (AUs) [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1066016
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Orcs' Brew

As soon as the attendant slammed the door shut behind her, Maedhros took off the filigree band that covered her eyes and set it on the table next to the bottle the attendant had brought. 

Bared, her steel-grey eyes seemed to smirk.

“We finally meet, nephew,” she said, while she was still unwrapping the headscarf that covered the rest of her face – a long black strip of silk, lined with gold embroidery like her tunic and trousers and gloves. 

Maglor propped her long spiked club on the ground between her legs and rested her arms on the flat bottom of the handle. Her hair was pulled back from her face, making the angles and dips of her face stand out in an unsettling way, like she had just dumped an etching of herself on the chair next to Maedhros. She was bare-chested and barefoot. It would have been hard for anyone to imagine they were face to face with the most talented singer of the Ñoldor. 

Gil-Galad hadn't been expecting her to actually show up in Lindon dressed like that, despite Celebrimbor's tales.

“Well-met,” he said, bowing to Maedhros first and Maglor next, as a respectful nephew should. He didn't _really_ feel any respect let alone affection towards either of them, and not just because they'd never met before. But they had asked to meet him, and Celebrimbor had insisted with him, so there they were.

Maedhros uncorked the bottle and filled the glass that came with it, seemingly unhindered by the loss of her right hand. 

“Circumstances have kept us apart for so long, but I heard a great deal about you from your mother. Well, she told me about how you came to exist, mostly. Our Tyelperinquar told us a lot more about you yourself.” 

Maedhros looked up and smiled at Celebrimbor, who smiled back from his place next to Gil-Galad's chair. 

“It's a good thing most of our people are dead or gone back to the West,” Maedhros went on, lifting the glass to her lips. She sniffed it. She had asked for their strongest drink, but seemed hesitant to taste it. “You wouldn't be able to pass your silver hair for Sindarin silver if that were not the case.”

Gil-Galad nodded. Celebrimbor had told him all about how unique his hair was – how it was his mother's and his mother's grandmother's cherished legacy. 

“I suppose your aunt Artanis must know.” Maedhros finally tasted the liquor, grimaced but gulped down the rest of the glass in a heartbeat. 

“She does know I am Fëanor's grandson.” It was weird, saying that out loud. Most people were content with hearing that he was of the House of Arafinwë when they asked. The few who weren't content with only that were all told his father was Orodreth, because Orodreth had been married and no further answers would be needed. “Though...I believe she guessed who my mother is wrong.”

Maedhros lifted one eyebrow as she filled her glass again. “Oh my, oh my, all-wise all-knowing Artanis making a wrong guess? So, does she believe Curufinwë seduced her way into Nargothrond?”

“Something like that.” 

Maedhros tsk-ed and downed another full glass. “I suppose many people would guess the same, if they knew who your father is _and_ they didn't believe Fëanor's children to be male. But I wonder just how low an opinion Artanis has of her brother, if she thinks him so easily swayed by my evil sister's charms. Or maybe she thinks Curufinwë took advantage of his pure, kind heart?”

Gil-Galad crossed his legs under the table then uncrossed them then tried to sit up even straighter. He was on good terms with his father's sister. Sure, she _had no idea_ , but her judgement was sound most of the time and she had always been kind to him. 

Maglor huffed, drawing his attention but when he turned towards her she kept on staring at him and didn't speak a word. He had to wonder if she was reading his mind, what with her stare and the way she started tapping her right foot, in a cadence. 

Maedhros didn't seem too interested in a reply. “Do you remember your mother at all?”

“Very vaguely.”

“Your father?”

“Not really.” Gil-Galad could not conjure any blonde hair from his earliest memories, any smell that wasn't the smell of people who'd been in the smithy. “I don't think he ever came to see me.” 

He silently turned and looked up at Celebrimbor for confirmation and Celebrimbor nodded his head once.

“Pretending nothing had happened?” Maedhros sloshed the liquor in her glass - she had only drunk half of it this time. “I hope the wolves took their sweet, sweet time with him.”

“I hear he's already been released from Mandos.”

Maedhros froze for a moment, glass and all. “Ah yes, of course. Of course Arafinwë's first son and heir cannot be guilty of anything. And of course an elf woman cannot conceive a child unwillingly.” She shut her eyes tight. That made her look vulnerable, almost fragile, almost like someone you could actually sympathise with. “There's no way out of it, is it? If I had had a brother Tyelcormo he would have been cast as the rapist. I bet he will be, in men's tales.”

“You must admit Mother wasn't...very nice to Lúthien or to the people of Doriath.”

“So what, should we just have rolled out a carpet for her and been like 'Sure, dearie, help yourself to one of our Silmarils?'”

“Mother could have tried talking to Lúthien at least.”

“And how do you know she didn't?”

Gil-Galad couldn't really claim he knew. 'It's in the history books' would have been laughable. 'Aunt Galadriel says so' counted even less, to aunt Maedhros at least. 

“The fearless princess of Doriath would have needed a couple of lessons on what Angband really stood for,” Maedhros spat. 

She sounded like she wouldn't have minded imparting those lessons. 

She could draw on plenty of personal experience, to be sure. 

She drank the last of the liquor. 

A long silence ensued. 

Gil-Galad waited.

“But why are people so dead set on believing we are sons?” Maedhros asked at last, staring at her empty glass. “Is a woman only allowed to fight for a 'just' cause? To win a flawless husband, marry him and have perfect unmarred children with him? Or maybe people can't picture Fëanáro being happy with daughters. 'Daughters of Fëanor' should have been as pious and wise as their mother!” Maedhros snorted and could hardly finish. Her laughter took over, loud and unrestrained. 

Maglor turned towards her, a smile tugging at one corner of her lips.

Gil-Galad looked at Celebrimbor again, but Celebrimbor was looking at his aunts and smiling too. 

Flushed and a little out of breath, Maedhros put the glass back on the tray next to the empty bottle. “Is this really the strongest drink you have to offer?” 

“It is.” 

It was. Gil-Glad didn't think anyone could have drunk a whole bottle of it on an empty stomach in the middle of the morning and not pass out on the spot. Most people passed out after half a bottle, during their rowdiest celebrations. 

“Nothing like the stuff the orcs brew.” Maedhros pushed the tray away from her with distaste. “It's hard getting used to it. Ghâsh. The first few times I had it, I couldn't take it. It burned and I was sure I was going to die, finally. But once you do get used to it, there's no going back.”

Gil-Galad tensed. He couldn't tell if she only wanted to make him uncomfortable because she had had no choice and he didn't want to think of how she had gotten used to drinking Orcs' brew, or if her words were a metaphor for something else, or if she was just being cryptic for the sake of it. He was grateful when Celebrimbor put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

He was twice as grateful about it when Maedhros suddenly unfolded to her full height and came to stand next to him. 

“Your mother did miss you, and regretted leaving you behind. But Nargothrond was safe and your father was out of the way. Things did turn out well for you, in the end. Looks like you skirted our curse's grasp.”

Maedhros smiled and Gil-galad tentatively smiled back.

“Tyelperinquar did a fine job bringing you up.”

“He did.”

“I hope you show him proper respect.”

“He's my brother.”

Maedhros caressed Celebrimbor's cheek with whatever was under her right glove, then somewhat awkwardly transferred her hand to Gil-Galad's cheek. Her touch was cold. Gil-Galad stood perfectly still. Luckily, she didn't linger. 

“I'm sure you will do a fine job leading what's left of the Ñoldor. But don't expect me to treat you as my king.”

Gil-Galad almost laughed right in her face. “I would never wish you to.”

Maedhros held his gaze, still smiling. “Oh, one last thing.” She reached inside her tunic with her cold hand and fished out the Silmaril. The gem hung on a chain around her neck, though it didn't seem to touch her skin directly. “This is your grandfather.”

Gil-Galad nodded, but tried not to look at the gem. 

“Not his looks of course, but this is...the brightest side of his soul.”

Gil-Galad did try not too look. He had always been careful to keep his eyes averted when Eärendil was around, the couple of times he'd shown his face in the camp of the Valar. But there was too much emotion in Maedhros's voice and on her old, scar-studded face. He didn't know what he would do if his four-times-kinslaying, orcs-brew-drinking aunt started crying on him. So he looked at the gem instead. Stared at it, and stared and stared.

“It's stunning. I didn't –”

The Silmaril nudged something inside him, like when people praised the stunning silver of his hair and went on to curse his mother in the same breath and he smiled but all he could think of was that he himself was just a fragment of his mother's losing battle and an urge swelled inside him, an urge to hug his mother and tell her that he was sorry, sorry that no-one would ever understand.

“Of course it is.” Maedhros cradled the Silmaril between her hands. “This is why both your mother and I, and our sisters too, meant every single word of the Oath we swore.”

Gil-Galad felt like he finally understood.

*

“Tyelpo! It's awesome to have you back for good.” Maedhros held her arms out and Celebrimbor sank between them, casting just the briefest glance at her blank slate of a chest. Maglor hugged him too, then both his aunts sat back down on the sofa where they'd been lounging, under a wisteria in full bloom.

Spring evenings were warm on the island of Himring, or Himling as it was usually known these days.

“So, is the stage all set?” Maedhros asked eagerly, while Maglor resumed plucking the strings of a tungana without making any melody.

Celebrimbor took off the cape he had worn to sneak out of Eregion and board a ship kindly – and very secretly – provided by the High King of the Exiled Ñoldor himself. “I sent the Three away as planned. Sauron will soon be marching on Eregion to get them back and get back at me.”

“Who did you entrust the rings to, in the end?”

“I sent one to Círdan, one to Ereinion, and the last one to Galadriel.”

Maedhros smirked. “Good. That will pet her pride and keep her busy, she will be saving the world! Well, Sauron should keep _everybody_ busy for a good long while, hopefully. They will forget about us in no time.”

Celebrimbor pulled a small box out of the pouch tied to his belt, careful not to drag the pendant he had got from Ereinion as a parting gift out along with it. “Do you really believe I will pass for dead?”

“Oh I'm sure Sauron won't want people to know you escaped him, and your rings too. _All_ of your rings. At worst, people will just start fabricating tales on how Curufinwë's son turned out to be just as untrustworthy as his mother, or father, or whatever.”

“I haven't been exactly sincere from the start of the Second Age.”

Maedhros held her good hand out to him. “At my behest.”

Celebrimbor opened the box and took out two of the rings in it. All three were colourless, transparent, a blank slate just like Maedhros's chest.

Celebrimbor slid one on Maedhros's index finger, pausing to kiss his mother's own ring that sat on Maedhros's thumb. 

The second found its place on Maglor's ring finger. 

The third was for himself, but it made no sense to wear it with the third Silmaril so far away.

Those rings had no power of their own. They were meant to resonate with the Silmarils, and with Míriel's blood. A sort of counter-hallowing. It left Finwë out, but Celebrimbor was sure Grandfather would forgive him for that, given the circumstances.

“I doubt Sauron intended for us to make his gift actually ours,” Maedhros remarked with glee. “Oh we will make good use of it, but we should wait until anyone who might get in our way is gone from Middle-Earth.”

“Gone?”

“Heeding the 'call of the sea' or dead,” Maedhros shrugged. “Most don't belong here. Take Artanis. She will surely grow tired of dispensing her bottomless wisdom to Silvan elves and mortals sooner or later, plus she has virtuous parents and virtuous brothers she can meet back in Valinor. 'Who will refill my cup' and all that hogwash.”

“Hogwash?” Eniar's voice rose indignantly as he came up to them and set a large tray down onto the table in front of Maedhros. “Way to thank me for all the time I waste on brewing this stuff for you.”

“But you're not refilling any silly cup, Eniar, my dear.”

“No, I'm just filling hundreds and hundreds of these things each week,” he said, and promptly handed Maedhros one of the many slim ceramic jugs arranged on the tray in circles.

It was the orcs' way of drinking - no glasses, no half measures, you had to take a jug and drink every last drop out of it or all manner of offence would be taken. 

Maglor set her tungana down and accepted a jug, too. 

“Tyelpo, what are you doing still standing? Take that useless shirt off and celebrate with us.”

“I'd...rather wash first,” he said, putting the box back inside the pouch. His hand brushed against the pendant again.

Maedhros met his gaze. “Are you worried?”

“Not worried exactly.” He huffed. “I'm leaving Ereinion behind.”

“I would have liked you to bring him here, believe me, but –” Maedhros drank, swallowed slowly, “– I'm not sure he would fit in with us. He has a place among our people, simply because they don't know who his mother is. You are marred, and he's not. If you died, they would mourn you but say you had it coming, because of us. If he dies, he will die a hero's death. And maybe...maybe he can provide more comfort to his mother in death than he ever could in life.”

“You've never spent any time with him, aunt,” Celebrimbor replied very calmly. “I will have to get used to not meeting him anymore, possibly never again.”

“Of course.” Maedhros drained her jug, set it down without her usual fierceness that made her look like she had just won an old war all over again. “Will you at least join us for dinner? We will wait for you. Or Cánië can sing something to soothe you?”

Maglor looked at him quizzically.

Celebrimbor was glad she didn't speak. “I'll be fine. I just need time.”

“You should come meet my last kids, before you do anything else,” Eniar said, patting him on the shoulder.

“I think I'll do that, gladly.”

Celebrimbor bowed to his aunts and turned to go, but as he did so Maedhros hooked the claw his mother had made for her around his arm. Celebrimbor stumbled back towards her, and she caught him in her arms.

“Tyelpo, I'm so so happy that you are here. With us. Happy and relieved.”

“I know, aunt. I know.”

Maedhros hugged him once more, wrapped her claw around his head and her good hand around his back and held him tight. She didn't hold him for long. He kissed her cheek when she released him. 

Eniar and he set out down the slope towards the craftspeople's quarter, which made up most of their settlement now that they didn't need walls or fortresses anymore. 

“Thank you for helping me out of there,” Celebrimbor said. 

“No problem.”

“So you're finally retiring?” 

Eniar nodded. “It was about time. I've trained one of my younger siblings to take over. They'll be having kids soon and then I'll let them carry on the brewing.”

“Bore the children yourself?”

Eniar beamed and pointed to an addition in the embroidered necklace they wore. Celebrimbor couldn't help smiling back: an orc's smile was a sight to behold.

“Your parents?” 

“They're ailing but still look after their grankids, and after Nelyë.”

Eniar's parents had insisted to Maedhros that only a breeding couple was allowed to brew the drink she wanted, back when she'd been attempting to force every orc she captured to do it for her. Maedhros was still convinced that was just an excuse – Eniar's parents had probably seen a chance to live their life together and seized it, but Maedhros let them have their way. And thus a couple of orc sweethearts had ended up getting the happiest ending of them all. Unsung, but Celebrimbor wagered they couldn't give less of a fuck about songs. 

Out in the garden in front of Eniar's house, a literal swarm of children chased each other around and up and down trees and vases and benches, limb as lizards, and didn't heed Eniar's call. 

Celebrimbor counted eleven before he got them all mixed up again and gave up. “You'd never borne this many before!”

“Gave it my all, since it was the last time. It was a bit of a struggle, truth be told.”

Celebrimbor scrunched his face.

“What?”

“No, I'm just thinking that if all elves could bear children like you do I would've had at least a couple hundred aunts and a few scores uncles.”

“Oh yeah,” Eniar laughed. “Nelyë said the same thing once.”

“Perhaps we would have been happier, too,” Celebrimbor murmured, his mind swiftly going back to his mother, and to aunt Celegorm, and to Ereinion again.

Eniar caught one of the children and picked them up, which drew the others' attention away from their game. “Come, have a drink with me. Stop thinking for a while.”

“I'm not sure drinking is a good idea for me.”

“Come on, you're not a baby. I have smaller jugs than the ones I bring Nelyë, and we have plenty to eat too. My parents made pork bone soup today, and the softest, crumbliest almond cookies you'll ever eat.”

“Well, in that case.” 

“Good.” Eniar turned to the children, who had grouped up to stare at them expectantly. “Now, kids, this is Maedhros's nephew. Introduce yourselves.” 

There was a moment of utter silence. Then the children gave a single cry and flung themselves at Celebrimbor.

**Author's Note:**

> Daughters of Fëanor – with roughly the same stories as the Sons - are the most interesting female characters Tolkien could have written, as far as I'm concerned (and _maybe_ fandom would have taken them more seriously than the sons, just maybe). So I like playing with the idea that it was in fact daughters but that got lost somewhere along a way because of anti-Fëanorian bias + a bit of sexism, because of course elf women who are mean to all the 'good' elves and have not much of an interest in marriage or childbearing = the literal devil.
> 
> I have a few ideas for who Curufin's husband was but I couldn't decide on one (from arranged marriage that ends in an ugly way to was never actually married, thank you.).
> 
> Eniar should mean 'holy blood' (my idea here is that Orcs speak their own version of Sindarin + I don't go with the idea that orcs used to be elves, they're failures on the way to making dragons that Morgoth thought would be useful as disposable fodder against elves).
> 
> This Gil-Galad is very much caught between a rock and a hard place (he has no reason to like his mother Celegorm, but feels sorry for her too).


End file.
